


The Quickest Way To A Woman's Heart

by paperclipbitch



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Athos is a failboat, Crack, F/M, Gen, Handwaving, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 20:48:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4494207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperclipbitch/pseuds/paperclipbitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Modern AU] “We had to take Athos shopping for a waffle iron to impress a lady,” d’Artagnan pipes up.</p><p>On the other side of the room, Milady snorts into her coffee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Quickest Way To A Woman's Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pennyplainknits](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pennyplainknits/gifts).



> I've been taking requests from my twitter feed, and **pennyplainknits** gave me the prompt: _Ninon/Athos or Athos/Failure. Buying the Waffle Iron was the first mistake_. I’ve basically gleefully written a fic where everyone is the worst, you’re all welcome.

Lakeland Ltd on a Sunday afternoon feels overcrowded, even though it isn’t really; just full of (mostly female) people looking intently at labels on food flavourings and examining different kinds of baking pans.

“You know this is all going to end in tears, right?” Aramis says, coming up behind Athos to sling an arm around his shoulders. 

“I didn’t invite you,” Athos says tightly, shrugging the arm off.

“Like I was going to miss this trainwreck,” Aramis responds cheerfully.

Athos is definitely going to get himself new friends at some point. 

“I know Porthos is here because he knows about actual cooking things,” d’Artagnan says, not looking up from his phone and nearly bumping into a man carrying a basket full of brightly-coloured knives. “And Aramis is here because he just goes where Porthos goes, but why am _I_ here?”

“You’re the Work Experience Boy,” Porthos and Aramis respond in unison.

d’Artagnan, who didn’t like being called the Work Experience Boy when he first started at their firm four months ago and _really_ doesn’t like it now, scowls.

Athos tries to ignore them all and concentrate on why he’s actually here, shopping for kitchen appliances, when he could be at home doing something that doesn’t involve the general public or, frankly, any of the people currently with him. He doesn’t need Porthos trying to hide his amusement, d’Artagnan incapable of hiding his bemusement, or Aramis not bothering to hide his hangover.

“I still don’t understand why you owning a waffle iron is going to make Ninon want to sleep with you,” Aramis remarks. “I mean, she has _met_ you before, Athos.”

Athos ignores him, and does not tell him about what he learned from his marriage, or that Ninon is far classier than most of the women his friends have thrown at him since the divorce, and that she might expect something more after spending the night with him than some instant Nescafe and whatever Porthos left in his fridge last time he was worried Athos was going to get scurvy.

d’Artagnan has been texting industriously for the last couple of minutes. “Constance says you should probably learn to work the toaster without setting it on fire before you try to progress to other appliances.”

“Fuck all of you,” Athos replies, and goes to buy the most expensive waffle maker he can find.

+

“I hope everyone had a good weekend,” Treville says in their Monday briefing, in a tone that says he doesn’t care and hopes that Aramis in particular is not about to share details.

“We had to take Athos shopping for a waffle iron to impress a lady,” d’Artagnan pipes up.

On the other side of the room, Milady snorts into her coffee.

Treville looks concerned.

“Do you have insurance after the last time you burned down your house?” he asks Athos.

Athos really, _really_ needs to find new people to be friends with.

“Yes,” he snips, “but as I keep reminding you all, _I didn’t burn my own house down_. Milady did.”

Milady sips her coffee and bats her eyelashes. “Divorces are such difficult times,” she says.

Treville clearly regrets hiring them both, but all he does is clear his throat and return to the Monday morning briefing.

-

Over lunch, Porthos is flicking through a catalogue he picked up in Lakeland and putting little biro stars next to things, while Aramis leans over his shoulder and asks ridiculous questions and d’Artagnan livetweets the whole thing.

Porthos is basically the only person Athos knows who even vaguely resembles a real human being, and even he has his off days.

“What I don’t get,” d’Artagnan says eventually, through a mouthful of Hula Hoops, “is why you need a waffle iron. Isn’t the selling point that she gets to shag you, not the quality of the breakfast you make her afterwards?”

“The kid has so much to learn,” Aramis remarks, shaking his head like he’s ever made breakfast for anyone in his life.

Porthos elbows Aramis in the chest but says to d’Artagnan: “it’s about showing a certain level of maturity. I do a fantastic Eggs Benedict.”

Aramis actually pouts. “You’ve never made me breakfast.”

Porthos rolls his eyes. “Maybe if you ever do something other than turn up pissed and pass out on my sofa, you can find out what you’re missing.”

Athos tunes out their bickering and considers things. His last significant relationship was his now defunct marriage, and on the rare occasions he and Milady were ever in the kitchen, it wasn’t to do any cooking. Ninon is interested in Athos, as far as he can tell – it did take Constance poking him repeatedly in the arm and saying _she was flirting, you idiot_ for him to be certain – but she’s also a dignified woman with poise and at least two PhDs and Athos is reasonably certain that he’s probably also going to have to buy a cafetiere as well. 

-

“I need you to sign this expenses report,” Athos says, walking into Milady’s office without knocking and putting it down on her desk.

Milady carries on filing her nails, but she does spare the paperwork a glance.

“Did you change your job while I wasn’t listening to Treville wittering on?”

There was a time in his life when Athos thought there was no one in the world he loved as much as Milady, and a time when he thought there was no one he hated, and now she’s his ex-wife who he happens to know just a little too well for comfort.

His ex-wife who seems to be claiming rather a lot of underwear on her expenses form.

“You made the man in accounts cry when he asked you for the third time to sign this,” Athos explains. “That unfortunately means it’s now my problem.”

Things are better now than they used to be, when it felt like he had a queue of people at his desk at any given moment asking him to deal with Milady for him; nowadays, he can go days at a time without someone begging him to intervene.

Milady huffs a sigh, and grabs a pen; she pauses with it over the form, and narrows her eyes.

“Have your waffle experiments won Ninon over yet?”

Athos silently counts to five, and says: “let’s not do this.”

Milady puts the lid back on her pen, and sits back in her chair. “Let’s not,” she agrees, with a smirk.

Athos could leave and not get the form sorted out, and then Treville would probably get involved, and he’ll still be back here with Milady looking at him with that satisfied expression.

“It’s really none of your business,” he tells her.

“You never tried to cook for _me_ ,” Milady says, and: “Ninon’s an old friend, forgive me for being curious.”

“Perhaps I’m learning from my mistakes,” Athos replies. He thinks about it, and adds: “please tell me you’ve never slept with Ninon.”

Milady scrawls a looping signature that’s at least twice the size it needs to be onto the expenses form, and hands it back with a sweet smile that he doesn’t buy for a second.

“There,” she says, and waits until Athos gets to the door before remarking: “Ninon prefers pancakes, anyway.”

-

“Did you go nuts on the Argos website?” d’Artagnan asks dubiously. “I thought you weren’t allowed to do online shopping anymore after you bought Aramis that thing that lets him make alcohol in his bathtub.”

“And a very fine vintage it was too,” Aramis protests, from where he’s manhandling a set of Le Creuset ramekins. 

“It nearly killed all of us, including Athos and his Liver of Steel,” Porthos reminds him. He’s intently studying a box containing… something, Athos is no longer entirely sure what exactly he bought last night. “Can I keep this? I’ve been wanting one for ages, and you don’t know what to do with it.”

Athos vaguely waves a hand in acquiescence, and continues looking worriedly at the sea of cardboard boxes. He’s gone wrong somewhere, he thinks, but he’s not completely sure where.

Treville walks in, probably about to tell them all that they should get some work done, and then notes Athos’ delivery.

“Your love life is ill-advised and also a fire hazard,” he informs Athos, looking significantly at a crème brulee blowtorch that Athos does not recall adding to his virtual basket, and then he walks out again.

“Okay,” Porthos says, “here’s what you’re going to do, mate. You’re going to call Ninon, invite her for a drink at that bar you like with the godawful lighting and the overpriced wine they’re really snooty about, but _not_ the other bar you like that’s weirdly similar but plays nothing but Tom Waits, and you’re going to continue into charming her into thinking you’re intellectual and deep and not just a depressive recovering from a drinking problem and kind of an arsehole to boot, and you’re not going to open any of these boxes or cook anything at all until you’ve at the very least established she’s going to come home with you on more than one occasion, or watched some of those Mary Berry cookery shows online. Okay?”

Athos thinks about protesting, but he’s had to take all the batteries out of his smoke alarms just so he can reheat pizza in peace, so it’s possible that Porthos has a point.

“Okay,” he agrees, and gets out his phone.

-

Three weeks later, Athos wakes up to find Ninon wandering around his bedroom wearing one of his old shirts and very little else – it’s a delightful sight to wake up to.

“Well,” she remarks, when she sees he’s awake, “that was much better than Milady told me it would be.”

Athos has managed to find yet another person who doesn’t believe opinions should stay inside their head; he’d say that he finds her honesty refreshing, but really, his ego would probably enjoy being lied to once in a while.

“Our sex life was never really the problem,” he replies.

“So I’m gathering,” Ninon says dryly, coming to sit on the edge of the bed, his shirt fluttering around her bare thighs. “I have been warned that under no circumstances should I allow you to make me breakfast, however.”

Athos’s kitchen cupboards are currently full of the appliances Porthos thought he could be safely trusted with; not that he’s opened the boxes or looked at any of them since he got them home. He did notice, though, that the blowtorch is not among them.

“Milady does have her own agenda here,” Athos protests mildly.

“That came from Constance, actually,” Ninon tells him. “She sent me a string of very emphatic messages littered with some rather alarming emojis.”

Well, Athos tried. He can learn from his mistakes, but he can’t implement them.

Ninon smiles, and leans down to kiss him. “Don’t look so grumpy,” she tells him, “come and keep me company while I experiment with this waffle iron I’ve been hearing so much about.”

Athos really is going to get himself some new friends. Not right now, though; for now, he has very important waffles to focus on.

**Author's Note:**

> Just wanted to say that **tigrrmilk** and I came up with them all calling d'Artagnan the Work Experience Boy endlessly, so I feel no compunctions about using it, I just wanted to head any plagiarism accusations off at the pass!


End file.
